Pavel Chekov and the Case of Appendicitis
by FreelyBeYourself
Summary: Pavel Chekov becomes sick with appendicitis just as the Enterprise is attacked by Klingons. Too bad he can't use that as an excuse to avoid going down to the sickbay. Will be five chapters in length when complete. I apologize for the less-than-original title.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Okay, so it's been far, far too long since I've written anything for Star Trek. I'm going to get back into it as I have time (being in college severely limits available writing time). I'm actually thinking of making a sequel to this story, though it will be a few months before that is published. This story was begun over a year ago and I just discovered it in the depths of my laptop, so keep in mind that this wasn't written continuously. That being said, any mistakes are mine. I own nothing. I have all except the last chapter completed and will be uploading everything within the next hours (Certainly by the end of the day tomorrow, the entire story should be posted.) This was written mostly because the 2009 reboot gave me an insight into Pavel Chekov that I love to explore in greater detail. I don't think there are enough stories about this particular character. Please read and review.**

Pavel Chekov made his way slowly to the Bridge. It was 0805 hours; he was already five minutes late, and he knew he really needed to get a move on. Somehow, though, he couldn't bring himself to pick up the pace. His feet dragged as he ambled to the turbolift at the end of the corridor. It had been a rough week on the Enterprise, and Pavel, like many of the crew, was feeling the stress. He wondered if he looked as tired as he felt. He hadn't bothered to look in the mirror.

A strange, empty sort of ache, one that provided him with a weary feeling, gathered around his midsection. He suddenly had the bizarre mental image of being gnawed apart from the inside by two or three small, relentless mice. The feeling was not pleasant. For a brief moment he considered skipping his shift altogether and going back to his cabin to take a shower and catch up on some technical journals he'd been reading. Normally a hard-working young man, Pavel simply did not feel like working today.

He stopped that thought dead in its tracks when he realized that skipping work would mean that he would have to explain _why_ to the Captain, and then the Captain would be disappointed, and Mr. Spock would probably lecture him, and then on top of it all he'd have to take an unnecessary but obligatory trip to sickbay. He'd seen it happen with his crewmates from time to time. No; skipping work was simply not worth it.

With a sigh, he took a deep breath to push away the weariness and the aches and pains he associated with stress, forcing himself to pick up the pace ever so slightly. Even so, it took four times longer than strictly necessary to reach the turbolift.

"Sorry zat I am late, Keptin," he stated apologetically (and meaning it) when he finally reached the Bridge three minutes later. He took a look around, noticing that he was the last member of Alpha shift to reach his station. Pavel cringed, expecting a reprimand from Commander Spock. However, the stoic Vulcan remained silent, electing instead to raise an eyebrow and appraise the Russian with a look that made Chekov feel as though he was in one of those old-fashioned x-ray machines.

"Ensign Chekov," the Captain frowned, turning in his chair at the sound of the door sliding open and observing the young ensign critically, "Are you alright?"

"Yes, sir," Pavel affirmed, swallowing back an unexplained surge of guilt as he turned to face his captain and caught the glimmer of genuine concern in the older man's eyes. He felt that further explanation was due. "It ees nothing. I vas feeling a leetle… off zis morning." It was the closest he could come to the truth, he realized. He didn't feel sick necessarily, or overly tired; he certainly hadn't overslept, or been delayed in any way. It was just… he didn't quite feel like himself.

"I see," Captain Kirk replied, the concern on his face increasing. "Mr. Chekov, if you're feeling ill, Lieutenant Uhura can let Dr. McCoy know that you're on your way down to sickbay –"

"No, Keptin," Pavel interrupted, rather rudely, he quickly realized. He blushed. Face burning, he looked back up at the Captain. "I am sorry, sir. I am fine, Keptin. Perhaps I am just on edge after yesterday's incident with ze Romulans."

Kirk's face cleared, and for a brief moment the Captain suddenly looked twice his age. Eight crewmen had been killed and a half a dozen more had suffered varying degrees of injury in a firefight with a Romulan ship in Federation space. The shields had been weakened to less than ten percent strength, and the Romulans showed no sign of stopping. There had been no choice but to destroy the Romulans in order to survive. Everyone was still a bit shaken up about the whole thing, especially since it was the first time following the Khan disaster that the Enterprise had lost crewmembers.

"We're all a bit on edge," Kirk agreed in what Pavel thought to be a moment of uncharacteristic exhaustion. The captain sighed. "Lieutenant Uhura, open a shipwide channel. I have an announcement to make."

"Aye, sir," the communications officer acknowledged. "Channel open."

"Attention, crew of the Enterprise. This is Captain Kirk. I had meant to make this announcement at a later time, however…" he shared a look with Chekov, "I feel that now is as good a time as any. I'm sure we could all do with a bit of good news. The Enterprise is due in space dock for some routine repairs and maintenance. After our encounter with the Romulans yesterday, Starfleet Command has seen fit to bring us in sooner rather than later. The entire crew of the Enterprise is scheduled for a week of shore leave on Earth starting the day after tomorrow. We're on our way back there now at warp 7, and unless something interferes we should enter orbit in 46 hours. I know how much we all need this rest, but we're not on vacation yet. Until we enter space dock, I expect all of you to continue to perform your duties to the best of your abilities. Kirk out."

 _Shore leave,_ Chekov thought, shoulders relaxing as tension seemed to literally roll off of his body, leaving him feeling a lot lighter. Yes, shore leave would be a welcome relief. In fact, Pavel thought as he surreptitiously looked around the Bridge, the entire Alpha-shift Bridge crew seemed to be just as relieved as he himself. Everyone was chatting happily, and the atmosphere was much more relaxed. Kirk didn't even try to call the place to order, settling for sitting in his chair and smiling around at everyone, savoring the moment of tranquility.

Pavel sat happily back in his seat, working on calculations for establishing a standard orbit around Earth. It wasn't technically necessary; the computer could easily do the same calculations in the space of milliseconds. However, it gave him something to do while he waited for the captain to give new orders. Besides, computers were fallible, and it couldn't hurt to be prepared.

Pavel fought back a shiver. Suddenly it was very cold on the Bridge. Confused, the nineteen-year-old accessed the computer from the helm, checking the life support systems. They were functioning at full capacity, maintaining an internal temperature of sixty-eight degrees Fahrenheit. Not cold enough to be causing him to shiver. He tried to ignore it, but before long he felt goosebumps rising up on his arms and legs, and he became so uncomfortable that he could no longer concentrate on his computations. Frowning, Pavel rubbed at his forehead in frustration, pulling his hand away in surprise when he realized how much he was sweating.

 _Sweating and shivering at the same time?_ The young man thought in confusion. What was worse, Pavel suddenly realized that the same dull ache in his stomach was back, except he could no longer mistake it for stress or exhaustion. He also began to realize that perhaps the strange pain had never really gone away; rather, he'd been so caught up in the prospect of shore leave and calculating the necessary velocity and angles for establishing an orbit around Earth and docking in space dock that he hadn't paid any attention to what his body was feeling.

 _Perhaps I should go see Dr. McCoy,_ Pavel thought, then promptly shut down that thought, as if his own mind had betrayed him and burned him with hot liquid. He _never_ went to sickbay unless ordered there by the Captain. He didn't like the smell, the poking and prodding, the invasion of privacy… he didn't like the way he had to give up control of himself. It was genuinely traumatizing to him.

"Mr. Chekov," Captain Kirk called, bringing the young man's attention away from his inner thoughts.

"Aye, Keptin?"

"Ensign, did you not hear the discussion that we have just been immersed in for the the past two point three minutes?" Mr. Spock interjected, and Pavel turned to see that the Vulcan had his eyebrow raised and was staring straight at him, surrounded by Captain Kirk, Dr. McCoy, Lieutenant Uhura, and Mr. Sulu. They were all standing by the turbolift, apparently waiting for Pavel to join them.

"Oy… No, sir," Pavel admitted, blushing. "My apologies, Meester Spock. I vas… distracted."

"No harm, no foul, Mr. Chekov," the captain smiled. "We were just talking about taking a lunch break. Would you like to join us?"

"Yes, please," Pavel said before he really had a chance to think about it, rising from his chair only to be instantly replaced by a blue-shirted female lieutenant who had been standing by on the side. He was immensely relieved to be getting off the Bridge, even if only for a little while.

"You have the Bridge, Mr. Munroe," the captain ordered, and Pavel barely heard the responding, "Aye, Captain Kirk," before the turbolift door slid shut and the main Bridge crew plus Dr. McCoy was on the way down to the mess hall. Pavel suddenly realized that he was ravenously hungry. When was the last time he had eaten? It must have been before the Romulan incident yesterday. Yes, it must be, because afterwards he had spent hours visiting Mr. Scott in sickbay before going to bed. Why hadn't he thought to grab breakfast? But now that he thought about it, he hadn't been hungry when he'd woken up. His stomach had been bothering him too much to eat, anyway. He had been feeling fine the night before, but Mr. Scott had desperately wanted visitors, so he hadn't eaten.

"Doctor McCoy, how is Meester Scott?" Pavel asked in concern, but McCoy responded with a relieved smile.

"It was touch and go for a while, but I think he's out of the woods now," the doctor announced to the group. "We managed to save his leg, and the head injury wasn't a factor in the surgery at all. I've mended his ribs and broken arm, but he'll be in sickbay for at least the next week and restricted to rest in his quarters for another week after that. This shore leave will either be a very good thing for him or a very bad thing. He'll be transferred to Starfleet Medical as soon as we dock, but I'll be following up on his treatment plan. He's not going to be at all happy about the fact that he's back on Earth for the first and only time since the five-year mission began and he's stuck in a hospital bed."

"No," Captain Kirk agreed. "Then again, Bones, who would be?"

"Dr. McCoy, what is the status of the others?" Mr. Spock asked. McCoy sighed.

"They're all in stable condition. Ensign Campbell and Yeoman Barrell have both been released from sickbay. Brady's recovering nicely; I'm keeping him in just for observation and to make sure that he doesn't overdo it, but he should be fine and I'll probably release him later on tonight or tomorrow. Rogers' head injury was worse than we initially thought. He'll be okay, of course, and he regained consciousness just about an hour ago, but he'll be in sickbay for the next few days, and since we're going to Earth anyway I might send him to Starfleet Medical as well just to be on the safe side. As for Lieutenant Loyola, well, she was lucky she didn't bleed out before we got to her. We weren't able to save her arm. When the panel blew, shrapnel flew at her at just the wrong angle. The partial amputation wasn't clean, and because it took so long for someone to notice that she'd been injured and get her to me, the beginnings of infection had already begun to set in. I couldn't do anything to fix the damage, but I was able to stop the infection from spreading. The technology for prosthetics is fantastic, and it improves all the time. With a bit of patience and physical therapy, she'll be able to live an almost normal life. If she can adjust to the prosthetic, it's likely that she'll eventually be able to forget almost entirely that she's even using one. But… her career in Starfleet is over."

"Does she know?" Captain Kirk asked, and Pavel frowned at the pain that was in the older man's voice. The Captain didn't even try to hide it. Even Mr. Spock's forehead had creased in an expression that Chekov had come to suspect might be something akin to concern.

"Not yet, Jim," McCoy frowned. "I've been keeping her sedated. I wanted to make sure she was in a more stable condition before I woke her up and let her know. I was going to tell her sometime this afternoon."

"Let me know when you do, Bones," Kirk sighed. "I'll be there."

"Sure, Jim."

Pavel shivered again as he thought about the people in sickbay. He knew only two of them personally, but he could place a face to each of the other names. These were people he lived with, served with, worked with. To know that they were all injured, even if he didn't know them on a first-name basis, made his blood boil.

The group arrived at the mess hall to find it empty save for a couple of red shirts playing chess. Pavel waited in line behind the Captain and the others for his turn at the replicator. When his chili and crackers materialized, though, he suddenly found that he wasn't very hungry, after all. He sat with his friends and listened halfheartedly to their conversation, staring at his lunch in an attempt to convince himself that he wanted to eat it.

"Hey, Pav, are you alright? You haven't touched your food, and you're so quiet," Hikaru Sulu asked, naturally drawing the attention of Kirk, Spock, McCoy, and Uhura. The young navigator cleared his throat.

"Da, Hikaru, I am fine," he answered, but despite the multiple pairs of eyes trained on him, he could not bring himself to perk up and take a bite of his food.

"Ensign, you do not look well," Mr. Spock observed, and Pavel noticed that the Vulcan's forehead was doing that creasing thing again. "Perhaps you should go to sickbay with Dr. McCoy."

"Nyet, I am fine," Chekov sighed, and it was more or less true, although he had to admit to himself that he was not feeling one hundred percent and that he'd probably only end up in sickbay later, anyway.

"Now, none of that," Dr. McCoy began, and Pavel sighed again, immediately recognizing from the doctor's tone that he was in for a long lecture. He was saved from the ordeal by the sounding of the red alert klaxon. All attention shifted to Kirk, who had leapt from his seat and quickly made his way to the nearest comm panel.

"Kirk to Bridge, report," the captain ordered, suddenly all business.

"Sir, two Klingon warbirds are materializing off the Starboard bow," the Bridge reported. Chekov didn't recognize the voice. "They've got their shields raised. We can't get a good read on them."

"On my way," Kirk said, and without a word he left the mess hall, the rest of the group hot on his heels. They made it to the Bridge in record time. Pavel made it to the helm and relieved the Lieutenant seated there just in time to be ready for the explosion that rocked the ship.

"Report," Kirk ordered.

"One photon torpedo has detonated between decks six and seven. Shields are holding. Only minimal damage is reported," Spock informed the Bridge.

"Sir, no casualties," Uhura stated.

"Hail them," the captain ordered.

"No response, sir."

"Keep trying."

"Aye, sir."

"Zey are firing again," Pavel reported, feeling a horrible sense of déjà vu as he realized that this was just how it had started with the Romulan ship the day before.

"Sulu, evasive maneuvers," Kirk said, and Sulu, having anticipated this, leapt into action. The photon torpedo missed its target. "Uhura, any response?"

"None, sir. They are receiving the message."

"Lieutenant, send a message to Starfleet Command," Spock ordered. "Inform them that we are being attacked by two Klingon warbirds and that we need immediate assistance."

"Sulu, fire photon torpedoes full force at the ship closest to us," Kirk ordered, and Chekov watched as Sulu pressed the firing controls, sending no less than six torpedoes at the nearest ship.

"No major damage to the structure of the ship," Spock reported, "However, sensors indicate that the warbird's shields have fallen."

"Mr. Sulu, fire phasers. Target that ship's weapons array and impulse engines. We don't want to destroy them, just disable them."

"Yes, sir. Firing now." The phasers fired just as an identical phaser blast from the other Klingon ship caused the Enterprise to rock again.

"Shields down to eighty-five percent," Mr. Spock reported.

"Sir, we hit the Klingon ship," Sulu reported.

"Mr. Spock, report," Kirk ordered. Pavel listened as the Vulcan first officer replied (and if that wasn't a smug tone of voice, Pavel would eat his hat.)

"Extreme phaser damage to the ship's drive section as well as damage to their torpedo bay. The ship does still have functional phasers at a short range only. Be advised that the ship is crippled until their engines can be repaired."

"Sir, sensors indicate zat ze ozzer ship is activating its cloaking device," Pavel stated.

"Sulu, be prepared for evasive maneuvers. They might not be able to fire on us when they're cloaked, but that doesn't mean they won't try to sneak up on us and surprise us," Kirk stated.

"Aye, sir," Hikaru agreed, watching the sensors closely, keeping his hands on the controls as he and Chekov wordlessly communicated about a proper course of action.

"Captain, Starfleet Command has ordered the USS Grant to our sector immediately. ETA is four minutes at maximum warp," Uhura announced. Pavel turned in his seat, watching as Kirk smiled.

"Uhura, inform the Grant that one ship is crippled with phaser capabilities and that the other has cloaked. We don't want them running into this blind."

"Yes, sir."

"Sir, the second warbird is rematerializing!" Sulu announced.

"Evasive!"

But the torpedo hit before the helm responded.

"Sulu!"

"Sorry, Captain."

"Sir, respectfully recommend attempting to disable the ship before it disappears again," Uhura stated. Pavel didn't need to look to know that Kirk was nodding along in agreement.

"Sulu, fire photon torpedoes and phasers, maximum spread."

"Firing now, sir." Everyone waited with baited breath. "Clean miss. The ship has dematerialized."

"Damn. What are they doing this far into Federation space, anyway?" Kirk mused aloud. "Alright. Spock, what's the status on the shields?"

"Shields are back up to ninety-six percent, however the Starboard side is weaker," the Vulcan replied.

"Chekov, calculate the course that ship would have taken had it continued on its path before it dematerialized, then fire in exactly the opposite direction. There's no way they would have continued on their course knowing we'd try to fire at them."

"Aye, Keptin," Chekov agreed, quickly inputting the proper information into the computer. "Hikaru, fire," he said, and he watched as his best friend quickly pressed the firing controls.

"Got him!" Chekov exclaimed as a small explosion lit up space and the Klingon ship reappeared.

"They have sustained minor damage. Sir, sensors indicate that the Grant has arrived. The Klingon ship is powering up its weapons." Spock turned to face the view screen.

"Sulu, fire!" Kirk ordered.

"Controls aren't responding sir. Checking… Sir, you won't believe this, but we are out of torpedoes."

"We're out of torpedoes? Mr. Sulu, is this a joke?" Kirk asked, and the entire Bridge crew flinched at the irritated tone of their captain's voice. Dr. McCoy, from his place behind the Captain's chair, smirked at his best friend's tone, knowing that it did not spell good news for whoever had failed to keep track of the number of torpedoes aboard the ship.

"Sir, the Klingons are firing."

The Enterprise rocked heavily, and for a moment the lights flickered off.

"Sir, shields have fallen to thirty percent. That hit knocked out warp drive. We have impulse power only. Phasers still operating at one hundred percent."

"The helm is not responding, sir," Sulu told the Captain. "We are unable to properly maneuver to either evade or attack."

"Uhura, contact the Grant. Tell them we need them to destroy that ship."

Uhura spun in her chair and did as told, and the Enterprise crew watched with baited breath as the Klingons began to come at them in an attack posture. They never got a chance to fire, as the USS Grant's phasers quickly took them out.

Pavel took a moment to take a deep breath, becoming aware as he did of a sharp, searing, horrible pain in his abdomen. He grunted, crying out before he had a chance to rein in his reaction. The pain was accompanied by nausea such as he had never felt before, and he experienced one moment of humiliation over what was about to happen before he lost control of himself and vomited the nonexistent contents of his stomach all over the floor.

"Pavel!" he heard the captain calling to him.

"Chekov!" The doctor's voice echoed the captain's.

The Russian had just enough time to register the blurs of blue and yellow that ran towards him before he was overcome by dizziness. The edges of his vision turned gray, and he was vaguely aware that he had toppled out of his seat onto the floor. He realized in one moment that he should be embarrassed; in the next moment, his vision had blurred and he found that he was having trouble thinking of anything at all.


	2. Chapter 2

Pavel never actually lost consciousness, to both his extreme relief and embarrassment. True, he now didn't have to worry about hearing stories of his collapse in the corridors or the gymnasium or the mess hall and not knowing what his crewmates were talking about; on the other hand, however, being fully aware meant that he had to actively endure a dozen curious and worried stares. He almost wasn't sure which was worse, but part of him wished that he had just passed out.

"Pavel, look at me," a worried but firm voice murmured from beside him. Pavel looked around, searching for the face that hovered above him.

"Doctor," Chekov whispered, cheeks flushing in humiliation at his current predicament. Dr. McCoy wasted no time in pulling out his favorite (albeit old-fashioned) pen light, shining it in the navigator's eyes carefully but rapidly, wasting no time in getting straight to the point. Behind the doctor, Captain Kirk was alternating between glancing at his downed crewman and shouting orders to the Bridge crew. _Oh, right,_ Chekov remembered; they were still dealing with the one disabled Klingon ship.

"…. half of the Klingon prisoners transferred to the Grant's brig, and half to the Enterprise's brig," the Captain was saying now, his voice directed towards the view screen. Pavel missed what was said in response, but Captain Kirk nodded in approval, and Chekov tried to sit up in order to see what was going on.

"No, no, hang tight for a moment," Doctor McCoy interrupted his movements, pushing the young adult down firmly by his shoulder so that he was once again flat on his back on the Bridge floor. Chekov struggled briefly before realizing that it was pointless. He sighed, nodding in acceptance, relaxing reluctantly as McCoy felt for his carotid pulse. "Heart rate's really fast, kid… Geez," the doctor muttered.

"Bones, is he okay?" Captain Kirk shot the question at the pair when he had a free moment. Bones shook his head in frustration.

"Jim, I never leave my tricorder in sickbay, but today I figured we were just going to lunch and nothing could _possibly_ happen to any of the crew in that time and – well, to be honest, I'm not sure what's wrong," the doctor admitted in a huff, shooting Chekov a pointed glare as if it was his fault. Pavel knew that McCoy didn't mean it personally.

"Get him to sickbay when you can, but you may want to wait a few; we're about to transfer fifty Klingon prisoners to the brig, and things could go wrong. You'd be safer here than in the corridors, at least until everyone is locked up."

Pavel had to hide his sigh of relief; maybe he'd be able to talk his way out of a trip to sickbay, with more time to work with.

"Right, Jim," McCoy acknowledged, and the Captain turned and pressed a button on his chair, ordering all available security personnel to the transporter room. That done, he called down to Engineering.

"Kirk to Engineering. I'm headed off the Bridge to deal with the Klingon prisoners, but when I get back I want a detailed damage report and an estimate of how long it will take to get the warp engines back online. In the meantime, give us all the impulse power we've got." The Captain's face came back into view and he glanced down at Chekov before turning to Sulu. "Sulu, as soon as we've got all of the prisoners on board, I want you to take us at our maximum possible speed back to Earth."

"Aye, sir," the helmsman answered.

"Uhura, contact Starfleet; inform them of our situation and ask for orders regarding the prisoners."

"Yes, Captain," Uhura agreed, and Pavel could hear that she was already pushing buttons on her communications console.

And then, before Pavel really registered what was going on, the Captain and Mr. Spock had vanished from the Bridge at a sprint.

Pavel's attention was brought back to his more immediate problem by the clucking of a disapproving tongue. "Space… what a dumb idea," Pavel thought he heard the doctor mutter, but he could have been mistaken. The man sighed, running a hand through his hair as his fingers again sought out the pulse point on Pavel's neck. Chekov watched the older man frown in response.

"Alright… Chekov, what happened?" he asked. Pavel opened his mouth to speak, shutting it again when McCoy leveled him with a glare that could have melted ice. "And don't you even consider omitting anything, Ensign, because if I find out that you've kept anything from me – and believe me, I _will_ find out – then I'll personally recommend that you be removed from duty and be placed on bed rest for a month, whether you need it or not."

Ensign Chekov winced; that was a real threat, and he knew that McCoy would indeed follow through. He sighed.

"Doctor, I voke up zis morning viz a stomach ache, but it vas not bad, and it went away. I don't feel sick, exactly, but I do not feel vell, either. As for vhat just happened, I do not know. I simply became dizzy and felt ze same pain in my stomach, but vorse than it vas earlier."

"Stomach ache, huh?" Dr. McCoy said, eyes narrowing. Pavel knew that it was absolutely pointless to protest the doctor's ministrations, so he grudgingly remained silent when the doctor began to palpate his abdomen. The young adult tried very hard not to make eye contact with Hikaru, whom he could feel burning holes in his head with his gaze. He couldn't help the flinch or the soft whine that escaped his lips when McCoy pressed on a particularly tender spot.

"Uh oh," McCoy muttered, and Chekov frowned. The doctor stopped what he was doing. "Lieutenant Uhura, any word on the status of the prisoner transfer?"

"None yet, Doctor… I'll keep you advised." The communications officer cleared her throat, and Pavel, though he could not see her face, could almost hear the frown in her voice as she spoke hesitantly, "Is Pavel going to be alright?"

Dr. McCoy sighed. "He should be, yeah, but I need to get him to sickbay as soon as possible. If Jim says to wait here, I'll trust him on that, but I really need to get Pavel to the infirmary so I can treat him."

Pavel was desperate to know what the doctor thought was wrong with him, but he didn't really want his crewmates knowing, so he sighed in frustration and stayed quiet. Dr. McCoy, however, had been watching his face intently, and as anyone who worked on the Enterprise knew, it was impossible to hide things from the Southern man.

"Chekov, would ya rather stay like this, or do you want to sit up?" the doctor asked. Pavel thought it a privilege that he was being given the choice, and he took it as a sign of reassurance that he wasn't dying.

"No, I vould definitely like to sit up, please." Lying on the floor in front of his coworkers was getting incredibly awkward; nobody (with the notable exceptions of Hikaru and Uhura) was actively staring anymore, but people were still taking every possible opportunity to shoot furtive glances in his direction. And, besides, Pavel now realized that he was lying far too close for comfort to the small puddle of vomit he'd been unable to hold back.

The doctor helped him to sit up, and Pavel winced as the pain flared up in his abdomen. He shook it off, allowing the doctor to half-drag him over to the corner of the Bridge, away from everyone else. He propped himself against the bulkhead with a heavy sigh. McCoy watched him worriedly for any signs of extreme discomfort.

"Pavel," the man began quietly, glancing around to be sure that nobody but the Ensign could hear him, "I'm pretty sure you have appendicitis."

Pavel's eyes widened in fear; he knew that appendicitis meant surgery, and surgery was not something that he was prepared to allow. Dr. McCoy misinterpreted the expression and hurried to raise his hands, a gesture meant to calm.

"No, you're going to be fine, kid, don't worry," the doctor said. "I can take it out easily. It's such a simple surgery nowadays. It'll take fifteen, twenty minutes, and then you'll be done. I don't think your appendix is in any danger of rupturing, and as long as it stays that way, recovery is a day, two tops, and then you'll be back to work." McCoy thought his statement through. "Well, actually, you'll be going on shore leave, so you're all set."

"Doctor," Pavel said softly, changing the subject; he did not want to cause a scene here, which he knew he would if they kept talking about surgery. "Vhy am I so dizzy?"

"Still dizzy?" McCoy asked, raising an eyebrow in concern. Pavel nodded; indeed, the room was beginning to spin again. The doctor frowned. "When's the last time you ate anything?"

"Ah," Pavel said, not wanting to confess the truth to the doctor. Unfortunately, his evasiveness only piqued the older man's interest, and the eyebrow climbed even farther in question. Pavel averted his eyes and muttered, "Sometime before ze Romulans." Dr. McCoy's disapproving frown made him feel somewhat guilty.

"And you didn't feel the need to mention that you had no appetite?" the man asked. Pavel flinched.

"I thought zat… I mean, after vhat happened vith ze Romulans, I just assumed zat… I vas wery upset," Pavel ground out, unable to explain himself. He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. McCoy watched silently. "I just figured zat I vould vant to eat again when ze… guilt vore off," he explained.

McCoy sighed, understanding. He, too, had been feeling his own share of survivor's guilt, as irrational as it was. "Well, kid, that's probably why you almost passed out. You've gone long enough without food that your body is starting to protest."

"Dr. McCoy," Lieutenant Uhura suddenly interrupted, "I've got Captain Kirk on. He says that the prisoners are all safely locked in the brig and that it's now okay for you to take Chekov to sickbay. Would you like me to call for a stretcher?"

McCoy's 'yes' died on his lips as he caught sight of the young Ensign, desperately trying to communicate through body language that he would rather walk. Normally McCoy would have disregarded this and called for a stretcher anyway, for his patient's own good, but something told him that now was not the time. He sighed, biting his lip, and then slowly shook his head.

"No, Lieutenant, that's okay," he said. Uhura looked surprised, but didn't argue. Pavel had already dragged himself to his feet by the time McCoy turned back to face him, and the doctor bit back a smile. In many ways, Pavel was like a miniature Jim Kirk.

Pavel only wavered once as he made his way to the turbolift, though he didn't miss the fact that Dr. McCoy stood almost annoyingly close by his side, ready at any moment to catch him. As soon as the turbolift doors closed, sealing them in, he sagged against the wall, closing his eyes in pain. His appendix was really starting to bother him now. Once, back at the Academy, his roommate had gotten appendicitis. Pavel had watched in horror as his roommate had vomited over and over again, shaking with fever, groaning and screaming into his pillow in pain. It had gone on for two days before all at once the symptoms had stopped. His roommate had claimed to feel a lot better; but Pavel left for class, and by the time he came back three hours later, his roommate was unconscious on the floor. Pavel would never forget that scene. They'd saved the teenager's life, but Pavel had been told that it had been close. Much too close.

When Dr. McCoy had told him that he thought Pavel had appendicitis, Pavel had wondered, where was the pain? Where was the agony? He had his answer, and it was a hundred times worse than what the young man had ever imagined. He grunted, unable to stop the low sound from breaking through his control.

A hand came to rest on his shoulder, comforting, sympathetic.

"It's alright, kid," McCoy said softly, reassuringly. "We're almost to sickbay. I'll get you some painkillers soon, kiddo." Sure enough, the turbolift doors chose that moment to open.

The walk down the hall to sickbay took longer than it should have, but Chekov, despite his pain, found himself grateful for the time he had to prepare. He had never liked going into the sickbay, and he liked it even less when he was a patient; when he had the prospect of impending surgery, however, he could barely make himself keep walking.

It took the firm hand on his arm to remind him that he really didn't have a choice in the matter. Even so, Chekov was hyper aware of the doctor's eyes on his face, and the fact that McCoy didn't rush him down the hall was evidence to the fact that the doctor knew just how much Pavel hated submitting to medical treatment, and was giving him time. Chekov came to a sudden halt just short of the automatic door to the sickbay, fixing Dr. McCoy with a look that caused the older man to let go of his arm and stand back against the wall. Pavel pressed a hand to his abdomen, trying to squeeze the pain away. Dr. McCoy hadn't had a tricorder, after all; what if he was wrong, and Pavel didn't have appendicitis? What if it was only a stomach bug?

Or, Pavel thought warily, what if Dr. McCoy was right (and the Russian had to admit that he probably was), and he did have appendicitis, and he died during surgery? The thought caused his heart to shoot into his throat at the same time as his stomach seemed to drop towards his knees. He shivered.

"Pavel," the doctor murmured, apparently able to sense the young man's fear. "Do you trust me?"

"Da, of course," Pavel responded immediately, and it was true. The Southern man nodded.

"I won't let anything happen to you," he said. Pavel glanced up, making eye contact that he was then unable to break. "I promise."

"Da," Chekov agreed softly. "I just…"

"You just…?" McCoy prompted in an uncharacteristically gentle tone when the young man cut himself off. Chekov sighed.

"I'm not… I do not like zis," he exclaimed, gesturing helplessly, but Dr. McCoy frowned, understanding what he meant.

"I know," he agreed. "I know this is hard for you. Harder, actually, than it is for most."

Pavel's eyebrows decided to choose that moment to practice their impression of Mr. Spock; if his hair had been long enough, they would have disappeared altogether. McCoy interpreted the question for what it was.

"Kid, I'm the CMO on this joint," he reminded Pavel gently. "I've read your medical history."

"Oh," Pavel muttered. Then he realized what this meant, and he felt his knees go weak. _"Oh."_

"Yeah," McCoy agreed gruffly, watching as his young patient struggled with an invisible demon. He chose not to say anything, letting the younger man speak first.

"So... you know about…"

"About your father?" McCoy asked. "About what he did to you? Yes."

"Oh," Pavel repeated weakly, but his appendix was sending out another flare of pain, and now was not the time to think about it. Dr. McCoy noticed, stepping forward worriedly.

"Kid, we'll talk about this, but for now, I really need to get you inside and see what we've got going on. That appendix is going to need to come out, and the sooner, the better."

"Doctor…" Pavel said, hating that he sounded slightly hysterical. "Don't hurt…." He filtered that sentence just a little too late, and he watched the Southern doctor flinch visibly.

"Kid," Dr. McCoy said solemnly, "I will never hurt you." And Pavel couldn't doubt the sincerity of the other man's tone. He nodded.

"Okay," he agreed, all but stumbling forward into the doctor's arms. Together, the two men made their way into the sickbay.

"Nurse!" Dr. McCoy called as soon as the sickbay doors _whooshed_ open. Pavel found himself surrounded by two nurses; McCoy deposited him into their care, and they had to support him as he made his way to the nearest bed. He looked around wildly, observing every movement like a dear in the headlights as they began running scans. In the background, he could hear Dr. McCoy rummaging around.

"I need an O.R. prepped stat," the doctor said, and a medical intern rushed to do what needed to be done. "Nurse Carhart, get his clothes off and get him prepped for surgery."

"Yes, doctor," the nurse to Chekov's right, the youngest nurse on the team, agreed swiftly. Chekov cringed when he realized that not two days before, he had been flirting with her over a cup of coffee in the observation lounge. Suddenly, Dr. McCoy was there, staring at the biobed readouts as he grabbed the tricorder from the other nurse, checking the results of the scan she had run.

"Yup, it's appendicitis." He turned to Chekov. "Kid, you're lucky. I was right; your appendix isn't about to burst, which means this should be a simple procedure."

To his right, a third nurse appeared, brandishing an IV kit. Chekov was overwhelmed by everything that was going on; as Nurse Carhart cut his pants away and removed his shoes, Chekov's brain suddenly caught up with the situation. Everything was suddenly moving far too fast. The young navigator, needing to know what was going on, wanting to be able to take things one step at a time, hating that nobody was _telling him_ what they were going to do before they did it, began to panic.

"Vait," he said softly, and Nurse Carhart paused, but the other nurse whose name he did not remember continued to insert the IV. Chekov looked down at his arm. The IV didn't hurt, but it was definitely there; he could feel the catheter sitting in his vein. He grimaced. "Vait," he said louder, with more emphasis; by this time, his shirt had been removed, too, and he was left in his boxers. This was all going far too fast for Pavel's liking. _"STOP!"_ he shouted, and finally, _finally_ , everything around him came to a complete and utter standstill.


	3. Chapter 3

Dr. McCoy appeared in Pavel's line of sight.

"Okay, hands off, everyone," he ordered quietly. There was a brief silence. "Give us a moment, please." And finally Chekov was given a little bit of privacy. He stared up at the ceiling, refusing to make eye contact with the doctor, even as he felt the weight of a blanket settle over his body. He gratefully clutched the edge of the somewhat scratchy material, rolling uncomfortably onto his side and curling into as tight a ball as he possibly could. He could feel the eyes on him and he instinctively tried to make himself invisible, not moving and even going as far as to hold his breath. Unfortunately, this served only to set off an alarm on the biobed, and Doctor McCoy sucked in a worried gasp.

Pavel flinched violently when a hand landed on his shoulder.

"Pavel," Dr. McCoy tried, "What's going on?"

The young man hesitated, but even without looking he could feel that Dr. McCoy's thus far limitless patience was quickly reaching an end. Pavel knew from observing the doctor that the man did not like it when people acted childishly in his sickbay. There was no question that he was acting childishly.

"I cannot do zis," he said. "I cannot let zem… I cannot… it is all going too fast."

Pavel peeked out from his self-made hiding place, and he noticed that the doctor was staring into space with a thoughtful look on his face. The navigator hid his face again as McCoy turned to look at him.

"What do you want?" the doctor finally asked, taking Chekov off guard. The Russian frowned.

"Vhat do you mean, sir?"

"I mean… how can we make this better for you? You know… as a Starfleet officer, you have to submit to your CMO's orders. And unfortunately, Chekov, you _need_ this surgery, which means that I will authorize it, with your consent or without it." Pavel probably would have been offended if he'd been feeling better, but, he also knew that McCoy was only doing his job.

"I know, doctor," Chekov agreed. "Eet is not zat I do not consent to ze surgery. I do realize it is necessary. I just need more time to… to…" the silence dragged on.

"To?"

Pavel grimaced. "I am not sure," he admitted. "You… you say you have read my medical history… you know why I am so afraid."

"I do know," McCoy agreed, his voice soothing but firm. "And you know that I will do everything in my power to make this experience less… uncomfortable. But I need to know what it is that you need from _me._ "

Pavel suddenly felt an incredible rush of anxiety, some kind of stage fright, as he considered how to answer this question. McCoy's eyes flashed up subtly to the monitor as his change of heart rate was registered. In the end, Pavel chickened out.

"I need more time, sir."

"Well, unfortunately, Ensign, this is your appendix we're talking about… it probably isn't going to get better on its own, and if it bursts, you could _die,_ " the doctor said, not unkindly. As if in agreement, Pavel found himself groaning in a new wave of intense pain. McCoy frowned, and Pavel heard the click of a hypospray as the doctor loaded the cartridge into the chamber. "Pavel, let me give you these painkillers, at least."

Pavel acquiesced, allowing Dr. McCoy access to his neck. The hypospray dispensed its contents with a hiss. Almost immediately, the drug began to take effect. The pain didn't vanish, but it wasn't as sharp as it had been. Pavel relaxed a little bit. He frowned as the doctor tried to push him gently onto his back, only giving in when McCoy grunted threateningly. Then the older man had his tricorder out, scanning Pavel's abdomen again.

"Ensign, I really don't want to wait much longer. There's no point in putting you at risk. You're stable now, but that just gives us even more reason to operate. There's no sense in waiting until you're barely conscious and in immediate danger."

"I know," the navigator replied softly.

"Then what's the problem?" McCoy demanded.

"I just hate all these people seeing zis," Chekov explained. He didn't bother explaining further. Dr. McCoy sighed heavily. Pavel could hear the battle going on within the man as he listened to that sigh; he knew that McCoy was fighting internally between doing what he thought was best for his patient, and doing what his patient wanted.

"Alright," he said. Pavel looked at him sharply, a question in his gaze. "Alright," McCoy repeated. "Here's what's going to happen. One nurse is going to come back and help me finish getting you ready for surgery. Then we'll operate. When you wake up, you'll be back here in the main sickbay with everyone else –" Pavel noticed for the first time that the crewmen who had been injured during the Romulan attack were on various beds throughout the sickbay "– but we'll leave the privacy screens up so that nobody can see you, okay?" McCoy cleared his throat. "And then you and I are going to _talk._ "

Pavel grimaced. "Yes, doctor," he whispered, half ashamed and half grateful. But at least what the doctor had suggested was reasonable; he'd be able to stay hidden, and nobody would see him weak and half naked. "Alright. I am ready."

"Okay." Then McCoy turned to face the nearest nurse, who was sitting at the desk in the front of the room. "Nurse, would you mind helping me with Ensign Chekov?"

"Of course, Doctor," the woman agreed, shooting a kind smile Pavel's way. He found himself relaxing, despite his misgivings. McCoy and the nurse busied themselves around Pavel's bed. Before the young navigator knew it, he was being lifted onto a hovering gurney, the painkillers making the transfer easier than it would have been otherwise. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see what was going on. He felt himself being lifted again, and then he was on the operating table in a private room. The biomonitor sprung to life, and the nurse reached to turn down the volume on the heartrate monitor until it was merely background noise. Pavel watched as Dr. McCoy inserted a pre-measured drug dosage into the machine that controlled his IV. The nurse gently placed an oxygen mask over his face. Pavel felt his heart begin to race, and then McCoy's hand was there, on his shoulder again, and he looked into the man's brown eyes.

"You're going to be fine, Ensign. Just relax. You'll be asleep in a matter of minutes, and you'll wake up again before you know it."

Even as he spoke, Pavel began to have trouble understanding his words. The doctor's voice sounded hollow; far away. His vision turned black around the edges, and in the next breath he was unconscious.


	4. Chapter 4

Pavel blinked, suddenly becoming aware that he was lying on his back, by himself, on a biobed in sickbay. He frowned; what was he doing here? He couldn't quite bring the memory to the surface, though if he strained to remember, he knew at least that he had been sick. The nineteen-year-old stared at the ceiling, and only after a very long time (or perhaps it was a very short time? Pavel wasn't sure) did it truly sink in that he was _alone._ He wasn't aware enough of what was going on to realize that the privacy screens were just drawn around his bed; indeed, if he had stopped to listen, he would have heard quiet murmuring and the beeping of heart monitors and the hustle and bustle of sickbay, separated from him by a curtain an eighth of an inch thick. As it was, he was too heavily medicated to think about this, or even to notice that the curtains were drawn.

In his time on the Enterprise he had been lucky enough to end up in sickbay only one other time, but he was quite sure that it was not standard practice for a patient to be left isolated like this. What if he was the only one left? What if they'd abandoned him? Terrified, Pavel tried to sit up, only to fall back with a gasp of pain. He was alone, and he had no idea what was wrong with him or where everyone else was. He started to hyperventilate, panic setting in.

He heard, in some corner of his awareness, a blaring alarm. The ship! Were they under attack? Had the Klingons come back?

He was vaguely aware of a blue-clad figure rushing to his side, and only then did he register (however fleetingly) that there had, in fact, been curtains around his bed. _Oh._

"Calm down, Pavel," a gruff voice spoke, and Pavel felt the fingers on the inner side of his wrist. "Slow, deep breaths," the voice demanded firmly, and Pavel wasn't sure whether he tried to comply or not. Whether because he passed out or he was sedated, he was not sure; but awareness was quickly lost again, and everything went black.

The next time he regained consciousness, he was able to think clearly enough to remember everything that had happened the last time. Now that he was aware of the curtains around his bed, their presence did not scare him; although, he didn't miss the fact that a small opening had been left, presumably so somebody could see him if he started to panic again.

Pavel tried to take stock of his body, to see what was wrong, but every time he tried to move he found that it was too exhausting, and he settled for relaxing in the bed. The drowsiness that he now realized had plagued him the last time he'd woken up was gone, and he blinked up at the ceiling.

"….. came to check on my crew, Bones," Pavel became aware of the Captain's voice, shutting his eyes as if that would help him hear better.

"What a surprise," Dr. McCoy drawled, but there didn't seem to be any heat in his words. Pavel smiled at the familiar banter.

"Come on, Bones," Captain Kirk answered, half-irritated. "How's Lieutenant Loyola?"

Pavel imagined Dr. McCoy shaking his head.

"I knew you wanted to be here, so I've kept her sedated. She's in stable condition, physically, but I'm worried about what her mental state will be like when she finds out what happened to her."

"I agree," Kirk muttered, and Pavel barely heard him. "And the others?" Kirk asked, louder. "Brady, Rogers, Chekov?"

"I'm actually about to sign Brady's release papers now, Jim," Dr. McCoy said, seeming pleased that he could offer good news. Pavel, too, was relieved to hear this, though it slowly began to dawn on him that he was eavesdropping on what should have been a private conversation. "Although, if you'd like to sit and talk with him for a while, I've got to make rounds first."

"Hmm, I'll do that," Kirk agreed.

"Rogers is stable and conscious. His neuro exams have all come back normal. I'm still keeping him in here until further notice because with head injuries like that, anything can happen. But he should be fine, Captain."

"And Chekov?"

"The Russian whiz kid had appendicitis," Dr. McCoy informed Captain Kirk. _Appendicitis!_ Now Pavel remembered. The day's events came rushing back to him. He flushed as he realized that he'd made quite a scene earlier; he winced when he remembered his impending conversation with the doctor. "We got it out with no complications. It was a short procedure. Pavel's still coming out of the anesthetic; he should wake up sometime soon. He was conscious briefly about fifteen minutes ago, but he'd worked himself into a panic by the time I got to him and we were forced to sedate him."

The Captain replied with something too quiet for Pavel to catch.

"By the way, Jim, how'd it go with the Klingon mess?

The Captain heaved a long, loud sigh, and Pavel figured that this meant that things hadn't gone well at all.

"What a disaster. We've got them in the brig, no problem, and the Grant has their half," Kirk assured. "The Grant is matching pace with us back to Earth."

"Earth?" McCoy asked, sounding surprised. "I'd sort of assumed that they want us to detour to drop the Klingon prisoners off elsewhere."

"Yeah, you'd think. But the Enterprise is damaged. We don't have warp power, though their chief engineer is over here helping while Scotty is out of commission. How is he, anyway, Bones?"

"Hmm? Oh, he's fine, Jim. Ready to go back to work, or so he says, but I say differently."

Kirk snorted. "You always do." The Captain sighed. "We'll still reach Earth within a few days, and Starfleet is still giving us a week of shore leave. They say that we handled the situation as well as we could given the circumstances, but the big question now is why a Federation starship was attacked in Federation space by both the Romulans and the Klingons within two days. They're sending the Grant back out to investigate as soon as they drop off their prisoners, and then, when we get done with shore leave, we're going to bring the Klingons back to the neutral zone, where apparently a Klingon ship will be waiting. Starfleet says they've already worked out the details."

"They don't waste much time over there," Dr. McCoy muttered. Kirk snorted a laugh. "Jim, I've got to go check on the whiz kid… you gonna be here when I'm done? I'd like to wake up Loyola as soon as possible; it's not good to keep someone sedated like that."

"Yeah, Bones, I'll be here," Captain Kirk agreed quietly, his voice fading as he walked towards the other end of the sickbay. Pavel focused on the doctor's footsteps as the man came closer to his bed. The curtains moved aside, and then his eyes flashed to meet Dr. McCoy's.

"Oh, you're awake," McCoy said, sounding sort of surprised. Pavel shrugged noncommittally, not wanting to admit that he'd been awake for at least the past five minutes and that he'd heard all of the supposed-to-be private conversation between Captain and CMO.

McCoy didn't seem to notice Chekov's evasiveness, or if he did, he didn't comment. He stepped up to the side of the bed, reading the biomonitor above the navigator's head. He nodded in approval, picking up a tricorder from a table next to Pavel's head. Pavel held still while the doctor scanned him. McCoy finished what he was doing and smiled slightly at the Ensign in a way that Pavel thought was meant to be encouraging (although it honestly looked a little pained), reaching over to carefully press his fingers against the area where his appendix used to be.

"Any of this hurt?" the doctor asked, and Pavel shook his head.

"Nyet."

"Okay. Well, we've got you pretty heavily medicated right now, so you shouldn't experience much discomfort, but if you need painkillers, press the call button, got it?" Chekov nodded his assent. McCoy continued, "Your surgery was a success; you did just fine."

"Thank you for this, Doctor," Pavel said, wincing as he remembered his outburst earlier. McCoy's face clouded over as he apparently remembered the same incident.

"You and I need to have a talk, kid," the doctor said with a sigh. "But for now, I want you to get some more sleep, if you can. I've got other patients to deal with, but I'll be back in a little while, alright? Would you like the curtains opened or closed?"

Pavel almost suggested that they be left open, but then he remembered his reasoning for wanting them in the first place. He shivered. "Closed, please."

McCoy nodded, smiling again and this time managing to look reassuring. He disappeared, leaving Pavel alone to his thoughts.

Pavel closed his eyes and went back to trying to pick up on the different sounds in the room. He could hear Captain Kirk's voice in the distance, though the Captain was speaking too softly for him to make out the words. He could hear a heart monitor closer to him, the person's heart rate almost too slow, Pavel thought; but he was not a doctor, so he wasn't sure. He heard the whir of a tricorder as Doctor McCoy checked on one of the other crewmembers, though Pavel was not sure which one. Before long, the sounds all blended together, and Pavel found himself floating; and then, before he knew it, he was asleep.


End file.
